


New Leaves in the Greenwood

by deathherselfie



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canon Compliant, Eryn Lasgalen, First Meetings, Fluff, Follow the Butterflies, Foreboding, Gandalf Meddles, Gen, Insecure Thranduil, Mirkwood, Radagast Meddles, Third Age, Young Legolas Greenleaf, early Third Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-07 15:02:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18875575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathherselfie/pseuds/deathherselfie
Summary: Some time after Third Age 1000 Thranduil is still feeling new to the role of King, and gladly takes advice from wizards. Radagast and Gandalf give him some, and then Gandalf returns a while later to find a happy surprise.Contains child Legolas, clouds of butterflies, and some hints at the distant future.





	New Leaves in the Greenwood

**Author's Note:**

> I woke up one morning with this story in my mind and typed it up before I even got out of bed. I suppose my brain does that sometimes. Hope you enjoy!

Mithrandir was standing with the King of Eryn Lasgalen a little away from the festivities, looking out into the thickening darkness beyond the lamps that were being lit behind them. It was early spring, and one could see far into the trees even by low light, but the small plumes of green shone bright with new life, stout and defiant in the receding darkness.

“I must say,” Mithrandir said after he had taken a strengthening sip of wine, “I cannot understand why you doubt Radagast’s counsel. It is, as you can plainly see, high time for new life.”

“In what way do I doubt his counsel, Mithrandir?” Thranduil frowned. “We are out here singing to the trees, celebrating and encouraging the prospering of all life in this forest.”

“All life?”

Thranduil fixed him with a sharp frown. “The wood may need us, still, and we it,” he said, “but though we live in caves this is no Doriath, no Lothlórien. Most still consider it unsafe.”

“Would you really consider your own kingdom unsafe?” Mithrandir hummed. Thranduil’s glare was replaced with a short flicker of self-doubt, and he looked again into the woods.

“We are far too few,” he murmured.

“Then make more of you!” Mithrandir huffed impatiently.

“I have not power like my father or his forbears. I cannot keep them safe.”

“You have a power all of your own: Your people’s trust. It is not a weapon to be wielded lightly, but I think you are well suited to its weight and power. These green leaves are a testament to that.”

“It is my wife who sings to the trees,” Thranduil mumbled, perhaps not intending for Mithrandir to hear – but sometimes he wondered if the old man did not indeed have hearing like an elf, for soon he answered.

“I do not think she would mind singing to an elfling, for a change,” Mithrandir chuckled, and returned to the festivities, leaving Thranduil alone with blushing cheeks.

 

Already the next day Radagast came tugging at Mithrandir’s sleeve, urging him to leave.

“The butterflies are leaving! We must follow the butterflies!” he said with great urgency, and although Mithrandir could not for all the world say what the significance of that was he obliged, packed up the few belongings he had, and went westwards with his friend. He did have some business with the eagles, he conceded at first, but it seemed the butterflies were leading them on a most difficult and unusual path, and with some consternation he realised the eagles would have to wait.

“ ‘Follow the butterflies’, ” he muttered to himself as they all but crawled through the bramble, “ ‘follow the butterflies’!”

He never did make it to the eagles that time, and it was quite a few years until he dared venture into Greenwood the Great again. That time, however, he stuck to the path, ignoring every single butterfly that might cross it.

 

It was around midsummer, and the thick of green leaves meant that Mithrandir was using his ears as much as his eyes to keep himself aware of his surroundings. For the most part it sounded like any other forest; the occasional rustle in the undergrowth, a trill of birdsong here and there, and a lot of silence in between. Then, as the path was broadening and he was coming closer to Thranduil’s halls, there was a bright sound he had not heard for many a yéni; the laughter of elven children. Mithrandir could not help but laugh himself, although it was a much deeper chuckle. The sound the children were making instantly died.

“I am not a danger, little ones,” he called out into the green, not knowing exactly where the children might be. There was a long silence, and then a small head peered out from the undergrowth, large curious eyes – and a little fearful, too – looking up at him.

“Hello, little one,” Mithrandir said, and leaned down to be closer to the child’s level, putting much weight on his staff as he did so, but not minding that his beard brushed the forest floor.

“You, you are…” the elfling began, while cautiously approaching. “Are you one of the second born? My naneth has told me about you! She sings often of Béren and the Silmaril – do you know that tale? Although I did not imagine that Béren had _so_ much hair on his chin!” It seemed, Mithrandir observed, that once this child found their courage they were quite unstoppable. Indeed, before he knew it he had little fingers touching his beard without ever asking for permission – not that Mithrandir minded much.

“I am not sure how bearded Béren was,” he said instead, “but it is quite reasonable to think that he could have grown a beard, should he have wished it. Most edain can.”

“I should like to meet more edain,” the child mumbled, and then suddenly, with fingers still in Mithrandir’s beard, they shouted. “Rilwen! Legrinor! He is not dangerous!”

As two other little elflings carefully made their way onto the path, much more wary, it seemed, of Mithrandir, the first one made to step back, only to find his fingers tangled in the beard.

“Not dangerous indeed!” Mithrandir laughed, and helped to free the delicate hand. “Most would warn their children not to get tangled up with wizards,” he continued. All children gasped.

“But sir, we did not know you were a wizard!” piped little Rilwen.

“We shall go at once!” hissed little Legrinor.

“I do not think my father will take kindly to a wizard in his wood,” the first one said, standing their ground.

“Oh?” Mithrandir asked, lifting himself to his full height, forgetting for the moment that it might intimidate the children. “And who might your father be?”

“He is Thranduil Oropherion, King of Eryn Lasgalen,” the child stated boldly, “and I am Prince Legolas, his son.” The other two elflings were cowering behind him, looking terrified on both their own behalf and Legolas’s. “And you, wizard, are trespassing!”

“I do not trespass, little prince, for all lands are of concern to me,” Mithrandir stated wisely. “And I do believe your father would not approve of you making such bold claims to an old friend of his. I am Mithrandir, and I have visited these woods often enough, though it was before your time.”

“Then I shall lead you to my father,” Legolas said dutifully.

“Can we not just go back?” whispered little Legrinor to Legolas.

“But we _are_ going back,” Legolas said, “only, we are bringing this wizard with us.” Legrinor did not look less fearful, but trusted in his Prince; Legolas was, after all, the oldest one of them, and even if it was just by three years, it was still enough to count for such young elves.

And so it was that Gandalf found himself once again leaving the path even though he had not planned to, following three little elflings into the thickening woods. When the children did not speak – Legrinor and Rilwen because they were still wary of him, Legolas because he knew the guards of the Greenwood never did – Mithrandir softly hummed to himself, a bit of the Lay of Leithian of which Legolas had reminded him.

‘I’m happy my advice took so well,’ he thought as they pushed past branches and bramble all lush with summer, ‘but I wonder if these children are not leading me on a wild goose chase in here among the creaking boughs!’ He had a strange feeling of foreboding, of walking through forests older than these, with a much heavier mind.

His thoughts were interrupted when a flock of great blue butterflies crossed their path, and while Mithrandir felt nothing but a puff of irritation at the sight it seemed to make the children forget all their fears, and they rang with laughter as they chased the little cloud.

“Stay, Legolas Greenleaf!” said Mithrandir. “Do not go back into the wood, not yet! You were to lead me to your father, and I have had more than my fill of chasing butterflies already.”

“Oh, but they are so pretty,” complained Legrinor, forgetting his fear in all his newfound sadness.

“There are other wizards who make their business with butterflies, little one, but my business is with Kings and Lords,” Mithrandir said wisely.

“But you said you had already chased butterflies yourself,” Legolas said as they began walking in the right direction again.

“That is a long tale,” Mithrandir sighed, “and perhaps I am not the best one to tell it. My friend Radagast would do it more justice, if it is butterflies that fascinate you.”

“Is Radagast business with butterflies then?” Rilwen asked.

“You catch on quick!” Mithrandir laughed. “Yes, Radagast is friends with all living things.”

“Are you not?” Legolas shot back with a frown, just as they were stepping into the clearing where a small party of elves were gathered.

“Now, little Greenleaf, you are twisting my words,” Mithrandir admonished gently.

“What does that mean, ‘Greenleaf’?”

“It is your name in the common tongue,” came a smooth voice from inside the clearing, and Thranduil soon stood beside them.

“I thank you for your assistance,” Mithrandir smiled to the children, “but I think it is time that you catch up with those butterflies.”

 

It was well into the night when silence settled in the glade, the children sung to sleep and the adults wandering among the trees. Thranduil and the wizard were sitting there still, by the sleeping children, their serious discussion having long since trickled into friendlier talk and companionable silences.

“You gave him a fitting name,” Mithrandir said to the silence.

“He heralds a new time for the Greenwood,” said Thranduil, but in the dark it was all the easier to hear the weight of his words. “Although, I worry still that this calm will not last.”

“He is very brave,” Mithrandir attempted to comfort. “He came out all by himself and stuck his fingers in my beard.” Thranduil laughed, and it was a lithe and lovely sound, but it died away too soon.

“I worry that it is his bravery that will get him into trouble, one day. I do not say it is foresight, for that I have not, but I have seen with my own eyes what bravery can lead to.” On that there followed a long silence. A moth came flying through the night, and it was only by the flutter of its wings that Mithrandir could tell it landed on his hand.

“I did not advice you lightly, when I was last here,” he said thoughtfully. “If the bravery of Legolas leads him away from your woods, I will do my best to keep him on the right path.”

“I notice you do not say ‘a safe path’.”

“No paths in life are truly safe,” Mithrandir answered, “but after he led me so well to you through this labyrinth you call a forest, how could I not return the favour were he to stray into territories were it is I who know the way?”

“I will hold you to that, Mithrandir.”

Somehow, neither of them felt truly reassured.

 

**Author's Note:**

> The line 'Stay, Legolas Greenleaf! Do not go back into the wood, not yet!' is stolen from LotR, I just thought it would be a nice nod to the future to come, and Gandalf's role in Legolas' life. This story is not really even a headcanon of mine or anything, but to my knowledge it fits with what we know of canon. If it doesn't, please let me know.
> 
> Oh, and I have absolutely no idea what Radagast was up to with those butterflies, but if someone knows will you please tell me?
> 
> Names: (Sindarin)
> 
> Rilwen - Glittering/bright/flaming maiden (Rill, n. glittering light, bright flame)
> 
> Legrinor - Fast one (legrin adj. rapid, swift)


End file.
